


clash

by orphan_account



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They take it like a duel, ten paces apart, dead sunlight on the barrel of Mami’s gun shimmering across Kyouko’s chest, eerie and promising.</p><p>practice writing fights and sex, requested by emma iirc with the prompt "dance"</p>
            </blockquote>





	clash

Practice sessions are a rare and subdued affair, growing rarer still as their group dwindles from four to two and a half (Akemi-san is never entirely there—perhaps she never was).  Mami insists, out of some private drive to always be prepared, and Kyouko is eager enough that she does not drag her feet.  They take it like a duel, ten paces apart, dead sunlight on the barrel of Mami’s gun shimmering across Kyouko’s chest, eerie and promising.  
  
“I won’t ask you to hold back,” Mami calls across the empty space, and her finger on the trigger has no calluses, “But please remember that we still patrol tonight.”  
  
“You got it,” swiping a streak of chocolate from her lower lip that is dark enough to look and taste like blood, “But don’t come crying to me when I hand your ass to you, ‘kay?”  
  
A drop of water falls from a pipe to the ground, and for an instant, Kyouko thinks she remembers this place from somewhere else.  
  
Mami takes the initiative while she still has the range to do so, gunfire cracking through the air at a staccato not feasible for any normal rifle.  Kyouko’s spear meets each bullet of magic head-on as she charges, slicing through the assault rather than defending from it.  She jumps and jackhammers down, missing Mami by scant inches and sending chunks of pavement flying.  Mami lands daintily on her feet several yards down the alley, frustratingly pristine, and opens fire once more, abandoning her previous attempt at conserving magic through the use of one rifle for her more conventional one-shot guns.  One in each hand, she shoots with the left, Kyouko darting to the right in time to meet the other bullet across her cheek, a golden slap.  Kyouko’s spear breaks apart with fluid ease and a metallic rattle, wrapping around Mami, distinctly snakelike.  The wood and chains dig into Mami tight enough that Kyouko can already see the red welts forming across those full thighs.  Leaning in close, the spear’s head kisses Mami across her cheek, rivulets of blood trickling down to stain the collar of her shirt.  She does not flinch.  
  
“That’s one for one, then,” she admits, wholly unruffled.  Kyouko frowns and squeezes the joints of the spear tighter, pushed by some urge to elicit a more raucous, more furious reaction.  It’s dangerously tight, enough to push a gasp forth from Mami’s lips, but nothing more concrete, yellow ribbons twining around the gaps in the spear and abruptly, alarmingly contracting.  There is only empty space with the last flicker of cloth, but Kyouko has seen this trick before, swinging around to meet the butt of a rifle just inches from smashing in her face.  Mami holds two more guns in reverse, wielding them like some bastardization of a saber and a bludgeon.  It’s unusual for her to engage in close combat as a mid-range fighter, so her moves are more unpredictable, feints and quick strikes coupled with a brute force that is almost on par with what Kyouko is capable of producing.  Almost, as Kyouko cuts clean through one of the rifles, her spear rejoining with a forgotten click before lashing out again to take Mami in the side with the flat.   Not one to waste a moment, Mami throws the useless half of a rifle to the ground and takes her remaining gun in both hands, blocking Kyouko’s attack neatly.  Still, the force sends her skidding sideways a yard or two, her teeth gritted, and Kyouko is right behind her, bearing down on her guard with savage abandon.  
  
The rifle snaps with a sickening crunch, vanishing in a puff of smoke an instant later to be replaced by another of its kind, barrel pointing straight between Kyouko’s breasts.  Kyouko has long since started letting the adrenaline drive her, but it does not control her, and she backs off the offensive just in time to block in earnest.  The bullets colliding with her spear’s shaft jar her arms fiercely, the indents of her fingernails in her palms cutting deep enough to break the skin.  The sun is setting behind them as Kyouko lunges again, cutting low as Mami springs up, daring another close-range attack, an improvised step in their mismatched dance.  Maybe it’s the falling darkness, but Kyouko can see something harder in Mami’s eyes, not buttery-soft or even fiery, but harsh and gleaming.  The grin she gives in response, catching Mami in the stomach with the butt of her spear, is too old for her years.  
  
Mami rolls with the inertia of her fall, gloved hand brushing her stomach with a typically dainty air, elegant and fluttering.  One finger trails upwards, over the harsh in-and-out of her chest, hooking in the ribbon around her neck to pull it free.  More like a cannon than a gun, Mami’s weapon unfolds with the perfect illusion of slow motion, and her stance gives no quarter.  
  
“Pulling out the big guns, huh?” Kyouko calls, her voice catching in her throat and making it sound huskier than usual.  She drives her spear into the ground, when it rises again, it is at least three times its normal size.  
  
“But not the biggest,” and her wink is the trigger, long blonde eyelashes just grazing her cheek as, “Tiro Finale!” the explosion forcing Kyouko off her feet, onto the spear with a thrust that leaves crimson after-images.  Their attacks collide with an undue ferocity, uncharacteristically carried-away but no less powerful for it.  Kyouko recovers first, calling up a gridded gate the colour of dry blood and tackling Mami into it.  
  
“‘Don’t get carried away’, huh?”    
  
“I never said that,” pointedly aware of how close Kyouko is, the way their thighs are nearly touching, “I merely reminded you that we’ll still be patrolling tonight, whether you’re hungry and tired or not.”  
  
“‘M always hungry,” Kyouko grumbles, and this is normally the point where she would back off and reach for something to eat.  She leans in closer, and for a moment, Mami cannot tell where the stray lock of hair across her cheek ends and the cut begins.    
  
“Now you’re being inappropriate,” hand at the back of Kyouko’s neck, finger dipped beneath the collar.  They kiss, then, with all the force and destructive capacity of their attacks, the sun letting out its death rattle just beneath the horizon.  Kyouko slams Mami’s wrists against the gate, tooth catching those full lips and scoring a line over them just sharply enough to make it sting.  Mami gasps into Kyouko’s mouth and lets her legs slide apart enough for Kyouko’s to get between them, but she’s not really yielding much of anything, tongue inside the other girl’s mouth.  She doesn’t taste like much of anything, for all that she’s constantly eating—she is Kyouko (no more, no less), and Mami’s tongue along the roof of her mouth makes her shiver.  They disengage with a faint air of reluctance, Kyouko breathing harder than she’d care to admit, relinquishing her grip on one of Mami’s wrists to tear open her blouse, the fabric fading away into a thin dust before it flutters to the ground.  Mami frowns, but it is not her dangerous frown, hand slipping up the side of Kyouko’s thigh with a pointed sense of contact, a smile flickering across her face.    
  
There is irony in this somewhere, Kyouko is sure, pressing her lips to the curve of Mami’s breast, trailing downwards with kisses and tiny bites that will only leave marks if someone’s looking too closely.  Mami whimpers when Kyouko’s teeth graze a nipple, her bra shoved downwards without any particular regard for the fact that it will still be the same when she returns to her normal form, a lacy, disheveled off-white.  She tenses, trying not to think of it as going on the defensive while Kyouko licks and sucks until she’s aching, a burning point between her legs that steadily robs her of anything resembling common sense, her own hand in Kyouko’s panties, searching.  Check, Mami’s finger slipping inside Kyouko with a slick, subtle force that makes her cease her assault with a whimper, but not checkmate, Kyouko kissing Mami again.  She sucks on Mami’s lower lip, coercing that thin scrape until blood beads to the surface.  Mami moans; Kyouko grimaces.  
  
“Bad aftertaste,” she explains, letting go of Mami entirely to tug the intruding hand free from between her legs.  Confused, Mami watches the muscles in Kyouko’s arms shift, fluid as she strips off her Puella Magi form and her jacket in one continuous motion.  Topless, Kyouko gets on her knees like she’s about to pray, smile pure sacrilege as she hoists Mami’s thigh over her shoulder.  Her tongue darts out across the inside of Mami’s thigh, already wet and met with a green-light noise, a loss of resistance.  Mami’s panties meet the pavement unceremoniously, Kyouko’s mouth trailing upwards to catch that sweet spot with a surprisingly ginger kiss.  Untethered, Mami reaches back to link her fingers through the loops in the chain fence, but it’s gone, vanished with Kyouko’s crimson Soul Gem nestled at the base of her throat.  Her knuckles scrape against brick, dissonant as Kyouko’s tongue slicks in and out of her, a needling tease nowhere near what she knows Kyouko can do.  Insistent, Mami grinds her hips down against Kyouko’s face—the pace is too lackadaisical, unsuited to the cadence of clashing weapons that brought them to this point.  Kyouko nips at Mami’s clit, half a tease, half a challenge, the heat fever pitch.  The assault is again all Kyouko’s, Mami daintily stifling moans with one hand even as her other laces through Kyouko’s hair, urging her forwards.  There is something intrinsically lonely about the moments before climax to Mami, a void she struggles to fill with the knowledge that she can never quite do it by herself, as something like,  
  
“Kyouko, please,” before she comes, head spinning and thigh aching from the vicegrip Kyouko’s held it in, five fingerprints the only thing left holding Mami down to the reality that her high will not last for more than a minute.  Kyouko catches her when she stumbles, and even has the cheek to lick her lips.  
  
“Thanks for the meal,” against Mami’s ear, a bashful kiss following like she’d rather it be forgotten.  
  
“You really are terrible,” Mami gasps, unafraid for once to have it come out all wrong, breathless.  Fluttering, her fingers come to rest on Kyouko’s hips, the picture of innocuousness until they shift, unbuttoning, unzipping, slipping beneath soft cotton.  “We had unfinished business, though,” by way of explanation, and their positions are reversed, Kyouko hard against the wall.  
  
Kyouko is not quiet when Mami’s fingers slide into her, and she makes no attempt to be as much, meeting each delicately timed thrust with her hips, “Fuck, yeah, that’s—” nothing coherent but still perfectly understandable.  Mami kisses her, and their tongues lock with more need than aggression, Kyouko’s legs shaking with pent-up tension, “C’mon, harder.”  She can feel Mami’s lips curl into a smile; the compliance is instant, those dainty fingers slamming in and out of her, dragging, pushing, demanding surrender without ever really asking.  Kyouko gives it anyways, as much as she can give, shuddering into orgasm with a shout that can’t be aligned into words, head thrown back and Mami’s mouth on her throat.  
  
They are both shaking, Mami’s fingers wet as Kyouko licks them off, mulling over her own taste as much as whether this is a sign that they should go again.  Mami sheds her Puella Magi form at last, more subdued than usual, and frowns at the realization that her askance bra is now trapped beneath several layers of street clothes.  Kyouko snorts and scuffs around on the ground with her boot in search of her jacket while Mami performs some perfectly ladylike trick to right her bra without undressing.  There are no streetlights in this alley, there never have been, and it might as well belong to a Demon’s dimension for all that the world seems to have forgotten it.  They leave trying to come up with something to talk about besides duty and keeping this a secret from Akemi-san, but neither Mami nor Kyouko can find the words to express the vague sense that they have forgotten something worth remembering.


End file.
